


Once Shattered, Twice Shy

by Selkie_de_Suzie



Series: Strange Hearts & Wild Things [9]
Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: Angst, Bonding Conversations, Broken Hearts Learning To Heal, Comfort fic, Comfort/Angst, Family Fights, First Cut Is The Deepest, Insecurity, Parental Fights, Parents As People, People we love can still be prejudiced..., Romance, Romance/Angst, Soul Baring, TW: Mention of Self Harm, Talking About Heartbreak, Trust Issues, butterfly bog, tw: panic attack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-10
Updated: 2015-09-10
Packaged: 2018-04-20 00:15:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4766306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selkie_de_Suzie/pseuds/Selkie_de_Suzie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a horrible evening at home, Marianne flees to find comfort in the Dark Forest…and finally tells Bog about what truly happened with Roland. </p><p>Part 9 of my "Strange Hearts & Wild Things" series. WARNING: There is a frank depiction of a panic attack and a mention of self-harm here. Nothing I hope would be triggering, but I wanted you to be aware.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Once Shattered, Twice Shy

**Author's Note:**

> Whoo boy. I can’t believe I’m finally posting this…
> 
> I’m not gonna lie, folks…it gets deep from here on out. This fanfic has been planned from the very start, from the infancy of this fandom and this timeline. 
> 
> And now here I am, finally posting it…
> 
> I’m so incredibly nervous and yet so deeply thrilled to finally share this with all of you lovely people. To everyone who has stuck with this timeline…you have *no* idea what it means to me. From the bottom of my heart…thank you.
> 
> Quick Note! I’ve been using the name given to the Fairy King by the animators/writers of the movie, Dagda, in my fanfics. Thus, it is not my creative property.

* * *

 

Marianne sighed, her mouth tense and her eyes narrowed. There were times when she honestly  _hated_ the transition between the seasons, and tonight was shaping up to be one of them. She dragged her brush through her hair, muttering to herself with each severe stroke, her reflection looking as serene as a thundercloud. 

The usual gentle, tenderly burgeoning warmth of Spring had inexplicably decided to take a sudden swing over into hot mugginess of Summer. The weather had decided to knit both seasons together to create a blanket of heat that covered the entirety of the Fields, a swath of humidity that tugged at the nerves and was thick upon the skin.  

Only the promise of darkness, as evidenced by the deepening stain of blue and violet in the sky, and the cool balm it offered kept Marianne somewhat sane. She had been fidgeting the whole day, long fingers twitchy with heat, torn between being jumpy as a hare and as languid as a snake in the sun. One needed to have the luxury of free time to be able to properly enjoy a day like this, but that simply wasn’t an option for the young Queen To Be, especially with her coronation so close at hand.

The whole week had been rough, but today especially so. She had suffered through far too many Council members getting flat-out snotty with her, far too many mutters from those who watched her approaching coronation with wariness instead of enthusiasm. Marianne’s knuckles now had a distinct soreness to them what with how she had clenched them each time she had been forced to bear yet another thinly-veiled criticism or long-winded, rambling anecdote.

Marianne sighed, her shoulders slumping a touch. Being royalty had never been easy to begin with, her every move scrutinized and muttered over. But this was her life, like it or not, and it always had been. And in the end, any petty annoyances or ill-concealed mutters were a small price to pay for what she was going to accomplish for her people, her Kingdom.  _At long last, the two Kingdoms united, no longer worlds apart…_

She inhaled and rolled her shoulders back, meeting her reflection’s gaze as regally as she could.  _It was worth it_. No matter what, she was finally doing what she had always dreamed of. But, as of right now, burned out and tense after the long day and even longer week, she was unabashedly eager to see the day be done. All that was left was grabbing some dinner with Dad and Dawn, and then she would be free to fly over her Fields, cross the Border, make her way through the Forest and then…

_She’d get to see him._

A soft little smile curved upon Marianne’s lips, and her eyes melted out of their weary irritability into something tender, and she ducked her head down at the sight she made in the looking-glass, carding a hand through her soft, now smooth locks.

That had always been a bonus to her diplomacy venture. Bog would always be a part of it, would always be there for her.

And now with her coronation fast approaching…

Marianne rose from her vanity and stretched, long and languid. No matter how many times Bog had told her that they were already equals, always had been, always would be, there was no denying that being Queen of the Light Fields would undoubtedly make relations with the King of the Dark Forest even more… _interesting_.

_Here’s to hoping that said relations will get steadily more intimate…_

Marianne smirked and yawned, ruffling a hand through her hair and promptly undoing all the hard work her brush had done, before meandering to her door. Pulling it open, she fluttered down the hall to the dining room, already feeling some tension leave. Dinner, and then Bog, and then hopefully they could get down to giving some of those relations the wonderfully thorough attention they  _so_ deserved…

Touching down at the door, Marianne gave her outfit a cursory glance before pulling the doors open, and her sigh of thankfulness at the bountiful spread of food was loud and long as she entered. “Tell me we’re having something strong to drink with dinner tonight, because I freaking need it.”

“As long as it’s cool, I’m good…” Dawn muttered from where she leaned against the table, her normally lively face grumpy and her wings looking distinctly wilted. She had always been sensitive when it came to the weather, and such smothering heat always put her in a funk. “It’s too hot to  _do_ anything. And Sunny was busy all day down at the Village. I was so freaking  _bored.”_

“Boredom is a luxury not all of us are allowed, darling,” their father said, his normally paternal tone a touch acerbic as he settled down into his chair, his armor softly clanking. “Be thankful you didn’t have to attend five meetings in this ridiculous weather.” 

Marianne raised an eyebrow. Guess she wasn’t the only one the heat was getting to. She quickly shook of the slump to her shoulders and adopted a more pleasant expression. Something was truly off if  _she_  had to be the cheerful, peppy one in the family. She gave her father a small grin. “Five meetings? You got me beat, I was only in three.”

“The demands of the crown,” he groaned, but he returned her smile, genuine even if his brow was still heavy with creases. “You have much to look forward to, my dear.”

“Don’t I know it.” Marianne echoed his groan as she settled down into her chair, tugging a bowl of fruit to her.

King Dagda chuckled, his eyes crinkling into the familiar lines of laughter, before looking toward Dawn, his gaze fond but stern. “Darling, if you were so bored, you could have come to a meeting with us.” Marianne almost groaned. Lectures were one of their father’s favorite ways to let off some steam, but it was the  _last_  thing this evening needed. He continued on, nodding sagely. “There’s nothing wrong with getting involved with how this Kingdom is run –"

“Wonderful, heat  _and_  politics,” grumbled Dawn, and Marianne bit back a smile. Dawn was so rarely cross that when she was it more endearing than anything else, like a daisy trying to mimic a bramble. Her father frowned, evidently not sharing such an opinion.  _The heat must be really getting to him._

Dawn continued, her voice muffled as she rested her golden head on her arms. “Besides, I  _did_  do stuff today. It was just too hot to do them  _well._  I’m so sick of sewing in this heat, I get all gross and sweaty.” She raised her head to look at her sister. “Speaking of which, your coronation dress is done. You will cry.”

“Tears of joy, I hope,” Marianne said dryly as she started pouring out the wine, but a smile played about on her mouth.

“As if there were any other options,” Dawn tutted as she grabbed a basket of rosemary bread, fresh from the ovens and steaming fragrantly. She passed it to their father, who eagerly snagged two pieces. “Just don’t cry on the dress.”

“I think it will be safe. Not really a  _tears of joy_  kind of girl, honestly.” Marianne leaned back in her chair with her goblet, a beautifully dark red that’s fragrance spoke of late Summer and moss and baking earth. “Not really a  _tears of anything_  kind of girl.” Her smile was sly. “Guess I’ll have to pay you back some other way.”  _Oooh, and you have **no**  idea -_   

Dawn, meanwhile, poured out an achingly sweet white wine, her telltale liveliness returning under the combined effects of food and sisterly banter. The smile she sent across the table was impish, and her blue eyes sparkled. “There’s always about naming all of your babies after me. But you better check with Boggy before you make that kind of deal.”

 _“Bog,”_  Marianne retorted as per usual, refusing to let her cheeks flush at the remark. Yet Dawn was normally never so saucy when it came to giving her sister grief that Marianne had to laugh, Dawn joining her.

Someone else was not so amused.

Marianne’s gut clenched as her father’s expression began to border on a grimace. He even went as far as to put down his bread, the combination of babies and Bog and her apparently too much for his stomach. Never mind that they had no clue whether it was even possible for them to –

 _Whoo boy, backing off that thought NOW_. Marianne instead set her jaw and lifted her glass to her mouth, forcing herself to concentrate on the wine’s smoothness and not on her father’s glower.  _Let it go, Dad._   

Still, had to play nice. And it wouldn’t hurt her to try to placate him in some kind of manner; it was a skill she had to work on developing for when she ruled. Speaking of which –

Marianne set lowered her glass and leveled a frank look at Dawn. “In all honesty, Dawn, you  _should_  try to come to a meeting with me, just to see –"

Their father immediately perked up, waving a satisfied hand to his eldest. “See? Marianne agrees with me, dear.”  _And we all know how rare **that**  is._

Marianne repressed a sigh as her baby sister gave her a betrayed look.

“ _Marianne.”_  Dawn said, her voice verging on a whine that had both Marianne and the King rolling their eyes. “The Council meetings are so  _dull._ Besides, I don’t see why  _I_  have to go, it’s not like  _I’m_  the one who’s gonna rule –"

“You’re a princess to this kingdom too, Dawn,” Marianne said, the exhaustion of the day giving her voice the tiniest edge of irritation to her finality. “I might be the one who will rule, but I want everyone to be educated. And that applies to you too. You can’t advise me if you don’t know what’s going on in the Kingdom.” 

Dawn scowled, looking as a fierce as a newborn snake. “Well heck, maybe I can just melt over the table if we’re gonna have to meet in heat like this, and  _then_  you’ll leave me –" She abruptly stopped, blue eyes going wide. “Wait…you want me to  _advise_  you?”

Marianne felt a sweet roll of vindication go through her, which went quite nicely with her wine as she took another sip. She savored it, letting it slide down her throat, before answering. “Yeah, I do,” she said casually. “Got to say, I would’ve thought you’d have jumped at the chance to boss me around, but hey, if you don’t want to be there, you can always get Sunny to fill you in.”

Dawn sat up straight, her cheeks flushing. “ _No no no,_  I want to be there, I  _totally_  want to –  _oh my gosh, I can’t believe you want me to_  –  _oh my gosh, are you_  – wait…” Dawn stopped once more, and now her blue eyes were the size of banquet plates.  _“You’re…you’re having Sunny on the Council?”_

“An  _Elf?”_

Marianne and Dawn looked down to where their father was putting down his drink, his face creasing in a way that was decidedly  _not_  from laughter.

Dawn shrank a bit, her enthusiasm and delight nipped right in the bud, but Marianne merely finished her wine before coolly and calmly setting her glass down with a soft  _clink_. “Representation in this Kingdom needs to happen, Dad,” she said evenly, her gaze locking with his.

His brow furrowed even further at that. “I quite agree, but – dear, the Fairy Council has always been comprised of fairies, ever since it started –"

“And all of them are rich, old men from noble backgrounds,” Marianne countered, a touch sharply. Her father flushed at that, no doubt recognizing how well he fit in with that company. Marianne refused to feel guilty and merely set her jaw. “Dad, I’m not saying they’re  _useless_  or  _has been’s_  or anything like that. But the Council has never really represented the Kingdom, only those who are part of a small and favored group.”

“The care of this Kingdom can’t be given out just to anyone, Marianne.” Her father sat up straighter, and his voice also a trifle heated. “We choose our councilors from the noble families because they understand the protocols that come with ruling –"

“Then how do you explain the lack of ladies of nobility there?” Her father flushed and Marianne threw up a hand in frustration. “For heaven’s sake,  _I’m_  the only woman on it! And I’m the freaking Princess, I’ve been catered to my whole life! We need people from  _all_ backgrounds, from each faction of the Kingdom. We need a representative for the elves, Dad, and Sunny’s the best one for the job –"

“That’s a matter of opinion!” King Dagda said hotly, and Dawn recoiled a bit, a glint of offended hurt in her soft blue eyes. He saw it and gave a slight wince, but his tone was still blustery as he continued. “I mean, well, really, what about that incident with the Love Potion? We know he can be far too trusting and easily manipulated –"

“Don’t be such a hypocrite, Dad,” Marianne snapped, starting to feel truly angry.  _As if he hadn’t been just as easily played._  “Sunny’s made amends for all of that. You don’t need to start hashing it up just to use it as an excuse to keep the Council  _pure.”_  Her sharp words and bitter sarcasm were lethal, and her father’s eyes darted away, an angry awkwardness to his face.  _Hit a bit too close to home, Dad?_

Marianne shook her head at the vicious thought. She didn’t need to get so nasty; this was not the first time her father and her had clashed over stuff like this. They were both just tired, horribly so, and the heat was making them all kinds of irritable –

King Dagda closed his eyes and shook his head, sighing deeply. “Fine – we’ll get an Elf on the committee.” He opened his eyes and brushed a hand through his hair, rough and weary. “I’ll…I’ll draw up a group of likely candidates, we’ll make a selection from there –"

“No.” Marianne’s voice brooked no arguments. “I want it to be Sunny. He needs this, Dad, and you and I both know why.”

“And what do you mean by  _that_ , precisely?” Her father’s face was getting that pinched look that never boded well, and Dawn was beginning to look uncomfortable at the tension that was filling the room, but Marianne was too annoyed and frustrated to care.

“I mean that I want it to be Sunny over anyone else because  _maybe_  if you saw how good he is in a position of power, you would lay off picking on him for being with Dawn!” She snapped.

At that, her father’s face turned a truly interesting shade of pink.

Dawn’s eyes widened and her mouth fell open. “Wait,  _waitwaitwait_  – you want to have Sunny as a representative because you want to  _help_  us?”

Marianne kept her eyes on her father as she replied, her anger still a slow simmer in her chest. “Yes,” she said calmly. “Yes, I did. And because he honestly would be great at it.”

Dawn was almost teary, she was so touched. “ _Marianne…”_

But their father interrupted, apparently having sufficiently rallied himself for another go. “Marianne, it’s nice that you want to help your sister, but this is a misguided way –" 

Marianne threw up her hands, frustrated beyond belief.  _“How is this misguided?!_  Sunny is popular and already has a strong standing in the Elf community! All voices in this kingdom need to be heard, Dad!”

Her father scowled. “In  _this_  Kingdom, yes, but first it’s an Elf and then next thing you know, we’ll get a –"

He immediately stopped, but Marianne had already caught what her father had been about to say.  _“Next thing you know, we’ll get a Goblin on the Council.”_

_Oh my god, he did **not**  – there was no  **way**  -_

Anger, hot and smothering as the evening air, rolled through her.  _How dare he!_

“ _This kingdom_ , huh?” Marianne’s tone was positively acidic, and both Dawn and the King shrank back slightly as she stood up, glaring across the table. “As opposed to other Kingdoms, right?  _Dark ones?”_  She gave a bitter laugh and shook her head. “I can’t  _believe_  you, Dad.”

“Marianne –"

“I mean, I suspected it, but I thought to myself  _‘No way, there’s no way your own father would be that petty. Stop being so unfair, Marianne.’_ ” Marianne felt a horrible mix of disappointment and anger twist in her gut, and she leveled a hard and merciless stare at her father. “It’s one thing to be unhappy about me and Bog, Dad. It’s another thing to take it out on Sunny just because he’s easier to pick on. I never thought you could be such a bully.”

Dawn looked like her eyes were about to pop out of her head, and she was paling into a decidedly un-fetching shade of white. In contrast, King Dagda’s face was beginning to shift from scarlet to purple in a very interesting way. “ _How dare you say_  – Marianne, I have  _never_ been a –"

“Yes you are, Dad!” Marianne almost slammed her fist onto the table, she was so incensed. “You bully Sunny and pick on Dawn because they’re easier to go after! You don’t  _dare_  to try that stuff with me or Bog because you  _know_  we won’t take that passive-aggressive bullshi–"

King Dagda jumped to his feet as well, his eyes flashing. “ _You watch your mouth, young lady!”_

“Dad, Marianne, please!” Dawn’s voice was pleading, her eyes scared - she had always hated confrontation. She burrowed down into her chair like a child. “You both are upset, you don’t know what you’re – you guys need to  _chill,_  just relax –"

But Marianne was too far gone, too livid to care, her blood rushing through her in a hot and horrible wave, her teeth bared as she squared off against her father. This had been too long coming, and it would no longer be denied. It  _had_  to happen and it had to happen  _now._  And if that meant that it was going to be fiery and loud and hurtful –

_So be it._

Her father may have never truly understood nor had an easy time with her, but they had still been close, still loved each other to the ends of the earth, and Marianne hated fighting with him. She hated it with all her heart, which gave a sickening, hard little twist as she took in her father’s fury, his splotchy face and his slitted green eyes, eyes that had always looked at her with fond exasperation and love but now only held anger.

Marianne  _hated_  fighting with her father. But she had never backed down from a fight, and she wouldn’t start now. She  _couldn’t_  start now.

Now she was fighting for someone other than herself.

_Bog…_

With that in mind, Marianne slammed her fists upon her hips and glared at her father. “Do you think I  _enjoy_  this?” She demanded harshly. “Do you think I get a kick out of seeing you uncomfortable? I hate it, Dad! But I’m not gonna stop just because you can’t accept that Bog and I are –"

“You’ve  _never_ stopped to think about making people uncomfortable!” Her father snapped, and okay,  _ouch_ , that hurt. Marianne grit her teeth and refused to recoil as her father continued, his words sharp. “Not me, not your sister” – Dawn flinched and opened her mouth, but their father went on. “Marianne, you used to listen to what others had to say, to think about how the Kingdom would be affected by your actions! But now –"

 _“How the Kingdom would be affected?!”_  Marianne snarled. “Do you even  _hear_ yourself, Dad? What have I been planning and working on and devoting the past year to? Diplomacy is only going to change our Kingdom for the better!”

“This is more about your diplomacy and you know it, Marianne!” Her father countered, jabbing a finger at her. “You cannot deny that you’ve changed –"

“For the better! I would never deny that!” Marianne crossed her arms so hard she knew she was going to have bruises, the skin of her knuckles bone white as she clenched her fists, her heart racing form anger and adrenaline. “I’ve never tried to be anyone but who I am, Dad.  _Unique, different_  - I don’t care!  _That’s me!_  The only difference is that I’ve stopped giving a damn about what others think. I’ve wasted too much time doing that, and all it gave me was pain! I  _know_  who I am!” She could feel her voice threatening to crack and she soldiered on, thumping a fist on across her chest, a fierce and proud claim. “I’m  _happy_  with who I am, Dad!”

Her father shook his head, his gray whiskers trembling. “I  _want_  you to be happy, dear, I’ve only ever wanted that!” He looked at her and she saw the genuine frustration in his eyes, his true incomprehension. “But you expect me to believe that after a year of declaring your hatred of Love, of all things romantic, that in the space of a single night you –” His face contorted, almost ugly. “You fell for a -”

“I  _know_  it’s strange!” Marianne retorted. “You think I don’t? But that doesn’t make it any less real, Dad!”

Her father threw up his hands in a helpless gesture of pure frustration. “Fine, it’s real! But that doesn’t mean you can’t just rush into it!”

“Daddy, it’s been a year!” Dawn said incredulously, her sheer disbelief over their father’s statement apparently trumping her abhorrence of fights. “Bog and Marianne have been taking it slow–"

“I meant rush into it without thinking!” Her father snapped, sending a disgruntled look at his youngest daughter. He turned his scowl on his eldest. “You should have thought about what the Bog King _is_  and how that will affect our Kingdom -!”

“He’s a King!” Marianne shouted. “A King just like you!”

“He’s a  _Goblin!”_  Her father spat, the disgust clear in his voice. “How could he possibly understand our–"

 _“He wants to know!”_  Marianne yelled, her voice cracking, her eyes burning. “He wants to learn, he wants to – he’s been the most supportive of my diplomacy plan, he’s been meeting with the Elders of the Forest to gather information – he wants to know, which is more than what  _you’ve_  ever done! You  _never_  ask about him,  _never_  want to hear what we – we’re together and I’m happy for the first time in ages and  _you don’t want to hear_  –!”

“I want you to be happy with someone that I can trust, someone I know has our Kingdom’s best interests at heart!” Her father retorted harshly. “Someone who knows our ways, who doesn’t  _have_  to learn! At least with Roland –"

Marianne stumbled back as if she had been slapped, her fury disappearing with an almost nauseating abruptness as she felt the blood drain from her face.

She felt only numbness and heard only a faint ringing in her ears as her father’s livid expression immediately become stricken, and Dawn looked at him with a horror that Marianne felt coursing through her veins.  _He had…_

The fight to find her voice was a vicious one, and when she spoke it was only a faint croak.

“ _How could you?”_  She managed, and she felt herself began to shake.  _“How could you say – after **everything** , after you saw what he tried to do to me – after –  **how could you?”**_

All color had left her father’s face now, and a dawning horror and dismay was coming into his eyes. “Marianne, I – I’m so –"

 _“How could you?!”_  Marianne’s voice was getting louder and higher, and oh god,  _oh god,_  she was shaking so hard right now, losing any control -

Dawn rose, her face full of frightened concern, and the same look was echoed on her father’s face as he saw how his eldest was positively quaking. “Marianne, I didn’t – I –" Words failing him, he reached a hand out to her.

Marianne wrenched away from him, her eyes wide and panicked, her voice shrill.  _“Don’t touch me!”_

Both Dawn and her father sprang back, and hurt glittered in the King’s bright green gaze –  _bright green like Roland’s, oh god, oh how could he have_ – and his expression turned pleading. “Marianne,  _please_  –"

**_“C’mon, Marianne –"_**

Marianne raked rough fingers through her hair, hard and messy-  _Not At All Like A Princess, never enough, too different -_ her nails harsh against her scalp –  _too rough, too clumsy, always falling short, even wings couldn’t take her high enough, disappointing everyone_  - her breath coming into hard gasps.

_Just like the Spring Ball, couldn’t listen to her, wouldn’t listen to her, refused to stop pushing her back to him – **“the Roland misunderstanding”**  –_

The dining room tilted dizzily around her, and she swayed alarmingly, Dawn and her father moving to her –

Marianne threw her hands out, holding them back –  _why was she reacting like this_ , even her flashback to the Forest hadn’t done  _this_  to her –

_You were taught to fear the Forest, just like you were taught to trust your father. Which one of those proved to be false?_

Marianne’s next desperate gulp for air sounded like a sob.

Fear was bright in her father’s eyes now, and Dawn was positively wretched with desperation to comfort her. “Marianne,  _oh god,_  it’s – it’s okay,  _you’re okay_ , it’s gonna be alright, I  _promise_ –"

Marianne looked up at her sister’s sweet face, blue eyes guileless and concerned,and –

_“What happened?” -  “I don’t want to talk about it…” - “Not even to me?”_

-   _I can’t I can’t oh Dawn I can’t and no would have listened no one listened anyway no one trusted me, all of them siding with Roland, choosing him over their princess, **his own daughter**_ - 

The heat was smothering her, drowning her. She couldn’t breath, her vision was swimming, the room was too hot too bright too much, she had to get out of here, had to leave,  _too much light -_

Her eyes, large and glistening and wild, darted around frantically and landed on the arched windows that opened out onto the view of the Fields, now bathed in twilight. The Forest loomed beyond them, black and foreboding, the very darkness of the night seeming to emanate from it.

_Darkness. Dark. Dark Forest._

_Bog._

**_I need Bog._ **

She rushed to the window, her emotions in such a tumult that she didn’t even think to fly, leaping up onto the ledge –

“MARIANNE!”

“DEAR,  _WAIT!”_

Her eyes were wet and scorching as she looked back at them over her shoulder, barely taking in their horrified, desperate faces.

 _“Don’t follow me,”_  Marianne grated out, and she threw herself into the gaping void of the night.

Her wings caught her, and she was off, flying away like just like she had on that day, that fateful day when she had witness the truth of Roland’s love for her, the only time she had run away, the betrayal too much –

_And here you are, betrayed all over again -_

Marianne grit her jaw and let her eyes burn, grimacing hard enough to hold any hint of tears back. 

There was an anguished cry behind her from the swiftly diminishing Palace. “ _Daddy, how could you?!”_

Marianne continued on, clenching her fists. She couldn’t have given it any attention anyway, she was barely holding it together, she was still trembling, her heart was still racing, her vision blurring with a hot, fierce prickle of –

 _Keep it together, you just need to get there, you just need to see him_   _– you’ll make it to the Forest and you’ll find him – you won’t be alone-_

Despite the sheer turmoil of her thoughts and the raging pain in her breast, another conversation with her father came unbidden to her.  _“I’m stronger alone.”_

Marianne bared her teeth and gave another fierce flap of her wings, swooping low and growing all the more closer to the Forest, to  _him_.

 _No more._   

* * *

She meant to come in smooth, meant to fly straight and true to the Castle. But her heartbeat was racing to the point of painful, and her nerves were everywhere. It was this that she blamed for when despite after all this time, all the countless trips back and forth and learning the lay of the land, she didn’t see that scraggily, wicked looking thorn bush that suddenly loomed in front of her, the barbs vicious.

Marianne tumbled back, limbs flailing and wings slacking to break. The bush receded, but she didn’t recover in time. Her wings desperately tried to flutter up, but she was too disorientated, too upset, panic and desperation and pain robbing her of any proper breath,  _can’t breathe_  –

She fell and crashed to the floor of the Forest, her knees and palms stinging as she skidded on the soil. Her vision spinning, Marianne tumbled in a dizzying and nauseating roll until she managed to hook her hands into the dirt and dig in with her feet, finally stopping herself in a crouch.

How long she was like that, bowed over and panting in the vast silence of the Forest at night, Marianne didn’t know. She didn’t care, couldn’t care, not when she –

She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t stop gasping, and she couldn’t see, her eyes too blurred with unshed tears –

Blinking hard, she pulled herself and looking around. Somewhere in between her hard, thudding heartbeats and her jittery nerves, Marianne vaguely noted it was odd to be on the floor of the Forest, especially so near the entrance of the Border. Normally she simply flew over it, too eager and intent on her destination to pay any mind of what lay below her wings. But now…

She gazed up, her eyes wide and glassy as they took in the glowing phosphorescent plants and fungi, drank in the dark and coiling shadows of the trees looming above her. The Forest was still, but it was a stillness that thrummed - the silence of moss and mist and roots that rose and twisted out from the soil like serpents, the quiet of softly treading of predators across leaves, the slither of scales on roots, the buzz of firefly wings, the cry of bats and the whisper of the wind, warm and fragrant –

Marianne exhaled, soft and shaky, her heartbeat slightly calmed. Funny, that the Forest could so calm her now, after so long being a place of terror and horror, after that fateful day she had first fallen through –

_\- That fateful day, falling through into darkness and terror and panic, goblins surrounding her as she desperately tried to explain, to escape, and she had, she had escaped and found Roland –_

_\- She had escaped only to fall into another kind of darkness entirely, her whole world going black with pain and shock and horror as she had seen just how dear she was to him, just how true that **bastard’s** heart had been_–

-  _Sobbing her heart out as she flew away from the sight of them, from **him** , her eyes burning as her heart was breaking into a million shattered shards, each one piercing her soul, she had loved him so, and he had never loved her,  **never** , only her crown, he  **used**  her, it was a lie,  **all of it a lie** , she was too  **different**  to ever be_-

Marianne bit her lip against the raw noise of agony, her skin nearly tearing under her teeth and her heart jolting painfully all over again.  _Don’t you cry, **don’t you dare cry,**  you’re stronger now, he doesn’t deserve any more of your tears –_

Yet she still felt a growing pain in her throat, a clawing wail fighting to get out by any means necessary, and she felt the burn behind her eyes grow, scalding in their promise to -

**_No!_ **

Marianne slammed a fist into the dirt, her back bowing again, her body shaking once more.

Not too far from her, a little mushroom watched the Fairy Paramour of his King, taking in her obvious torment with wide eyes. There was deep concern in his face as he leaned over to his companion, muttering a message in his low and whispery voice.

It was quickly passed down the line, and soon a multitude of the funguses were peering at the Fairy Princess, their expressions ranging from curiosity to wariness to concerned pity. Their King’s temper had improved significantly since he had met the fierce young Fairy, a fact that had earned her no small amount of admiration and gratitude from the toadstools. She had always treated them well and they had a sincere affection for her, as did most goblins in the Forest. If the poor creature was hurt in some way –

Well. Their King’s wrath wasn’t a pretty thing to begin with, but it would be far worse if he wasn’t alerted about it.

Marianne, unaware to any of this, simply stayed still, as still as she could what with how her body was heaving with her harsh pants, wracked with pain.

There was a sudden sweetness in the air, a faint perfume that wafted up to her from where her fist lay on the floor of the Forest. Something soft was crushed under her hand, and Marianne looked down in surprise.

It was some of the dark purple flowers that Bog had once given her, tucked so tenderly behind her ear. Overtime, they had spread across the Forest in a fragrant carpet, and Marianne suspected that Bog may have even forbidden any attempt to curb such growth, what with the sentimental value they held for both of them. Now, they reached to the very Border. She snorted softly, and then gently drew her hands over the blooms, somewhat distracted from her pain…

One of them was a tender, unopened bud, its petals closed tight and shy, as if the promise of the world was too daunting for it to face. Marianne gently curled her hand around it, before tucking it to her breast, her heart giving a pulse of desperate sympathy for a reason she couldn’t explain.

But the other flower was mangled beyond repair, the soft and lush petals creased and twisted and torn…

She had once been so tender and fragile, only to be so similarly torn up and crushed into the ground because of careless cruelty –

_Careless and conniving and he had crushed her so badly, used her without a second thought -_

Pain lanced through her again, and Marianne clutched her arms, gritting her teeth and squeezing her eyes shut.

This was ridiculous, she was  _overreacting,_  she  _had_  to stop herself from getting too – there was no reason that she should break now, no reason at all. She had kept the pain in for so long, had hidden how badly her heart had been shattered well enough, made her agony into armor –

It wasn’t the first time her father had –

_But after everything - !_

_After seeing him try to use the Potion on her - !_

_She had found Bog, found happiness and love and he still -!_

_He still couldn’t trust her decisions, still couldn’t trust her heart._

_He still couldn’t trust **her.**_

Marianne bit down on her sob, almost choking.  _Stop it. **Stop it right now** , you’re supposed to be stronger than this –_

“Marianne?”

Her head shot up, her eyes wide and her wings giving a fierce, fluttering spasm of shock before she scrambled to her feet, clumsy in her haste.  _“Bog!”_

His wings draped behind him as he touched down to the Forest floor, walking quickly to her, his expression anxious and his blue eyes concerned. “The mushrooms said you were here, that you looked to be in trouble, I came as quickly as I –"

“I’m fine!” Marianne said, the lie slipping off her tongue and through her teeth like water off of a leaf.  After her heartbreak, she had become skilled in the art of deflection. Besides, she wanted to be with Bog, but – he didn’t have to know, she didn’t want to worry him, just being with him was enough –

With that in mind, she quickly set to drinking him in, standing there in between the shadows and the light of the waxing moon, so tall and fierce and strong. Strength had never been an issue for Bog, even when he had been so wounded by Love, he never had to try to be strong,  _not like her_  –

She inhaled sharply at that and threw on a bright smile, hard and glinting and forced. “I’m  _fine_ , I’m – the mushrooms just exaggerated - you know, I’m -I’m actually kind of surprised you managed to get a clear message from them –"

“Thang is the one to louse up the messages, not the mushrooms,” Bog said, slowing down as he approached, taking in her barely repressed trembling, her hard mockery of a smile, her arms wound so desperately tight around herself. His brow furrowed and his gaze sharpened, but his voice was cautious and concerned. “Marianne, what’s the matter? Why are you here?”

She laughed, bright and hollow and  _pathetic_. “What, I – I can’t come visit you? Thought I was free to visit whenever I liked, d-don’t start changing your mind on me now –“

_Jokes are good, jokes are easy, deflect deflect deflect, forging an armor that let no one in, a bright baring of teeth, “Smile, my dear, smile”-_

Bog’s expression became even grimmer with concern and she knew he had heard that wretched little betrayal of a stutter. “Tough Girl, c’mon, you don’t have to –"   

“Bog, I’m fine!” Her voice was a sharp and trembling thing, thorns spun out of gossamer.  _I’m fine, I’m fine, I can handle this, I can take care of myself, I’m stronger alone, “I’m happy! I’m…happy…”, the words hollow even to her own ears–_

_She was fooling no one and everyone, they all wanted her to be happy,  a Happy Marianne was a safe one, not this Rough and Loud and Wild mess of a princess, this Different and Difficult daughter –_

_She was too different to –_

Bog came closer, his eyes soft and desperate. “Marianne, you…you don’t have to  _tell_  me, I – I just want to  _help_  you, if there’s something wrong – are…are you hurt? Is your Kingdom alright?”

_He was concerned for her Kingdom._

Marianne almost let out another laugh, harsh and hard. Concern for a Kingdom that had painted his land as a place of horrors, turned him into a monster that had made her heart seize with terror when she had flew past the Border on that –

_-That fateful day when she had been so utterly shattered, too broken to fix, she thought she had grown stronger, had forged all the little messy sharp pieces together into armor that she could use, but if a few simple words were enough to undo her –_

**_“At least with Roland - ”_ **

_Oh god, Dad, **how could you?**_

Marianne breathed deeply, desperately, turning away and biting down on her lip once more.  _Keep it together, stay strong, you can’t lose it, you have to stay strong, he can’t see you like this_  -

Bog’s voice was soft and nervous. “Marianne… _what happened?”_

_Dawn saying the same thing, so tender and tentative._

_“I don’t want to talk about it –“_

Marianne looked up at him then, her eyes wide, as if she was finally seeing him. He stood there between shadow and moonlight, tall and prickly and nervous, a hand tentatively held out to her while his blue eyes were filled with such warm concern it nearly scalded her raw and aching heart…

The King of the Forest she had dreaded for so long, the Goblin who understood and respected and loved her as no one else had ever done before, reached out claws that could have rent her apart but had only given her tenderness and searched her face with eyes that had glared out at the rest of the world but were now only filled with love. “Tough Girl…?” 

And Marianne shattered all over again.

 _“Bog!”_  The anguished cry was raw in her throat, it was torn from her so, but Marianne couldn’t care, couldn’t care at all, and she hurled herself into his arms, sobbing her heart out.

Bog stumbled back at the force of the impact, dropping his scepter, and she could feel his great shock in his whole body, his voice stunned and stammering.  _“Marianne-! I –wait – you’re crying?!”_

Marianne merely sobbed harder, pressing herself desperately against him, her eyes burning with tears and pain, humiliation and bitter sadness searing into her soul.  _“Please –"_

Tears fell and splashed against his scales, their warm saltiness tracing the lines of his segments. Claws pressed her close, drew through her hair, caring and concerned and bewildered. “Tough Girl, what – are you hurt, do you need me to –?"

 _“Please,”_  Marianne choked out,  _“Please, just – just –"_ She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t get it out –

“ _Breathe,_  Marianne, you need to breathe –"

She needed to breathe, she did, he was right, but her heart was cracking all over again, and only the feel of him could make that piercing pain fade –

“Marianne, darling, tell me what I can –"

 _“Just hold me,”_  she wept, misery making her voice thick, her throat closing up on that last word. “ _Please, I just – I need you, I - Bog, hold me tight -"_

Any remaining bewilderment vanished, and she was suddenly pulled up to him, his arms circling her completely, cradling her, pressing her close as she could get, protective and tender and fierce.  _“Always,”_  Bog murmured against her hair, tucking his face next to hers.  _“Always, Marianne.”_

She shuddered, another sob tearing through her. Why couldn’t she stop crying,  _why did she have to be so weak, so weak and so different?_   _“Bog, **please**  –"_ 

 _“I’m here.”_  Claws stroked down her back while the other pair wound through her hair. “I’m here, Tough Girl, I’m here. I’ve got you.”

She grit her teeth, trying to hold in her pain –  _she’ll look so pathetic after this, he’ll be so disgusted to see her so, will want to leave her, too much to handle, too different to_  - but still desperate.  _“Don’t leave me –"_

The claws clutched at her. “ _Never._  Never, I swear, Marianne, I’ll never –"

She burrowed her face in the crook of his neck, her tears leaving hot little paths on her cheeks, dripping from her chin onto him. Words left her, and she sank back into pain that couldn’t be stopped, misery that wouldn’t be leashed, rough sobs making her whole body shake.

But Bog was there, holding her, cradling her, stroking her hair and making low, soothing noises. “I’m here.” He murmured, his voice rough and soft and tender. “I’m here, Tough Girl, I’m here. I’m not going anywhere…I’ve got you…”

No false promises, no “ _it will be fine’s_ ”, no “ _you’ll be alright’s_ ”. Just the promise that only he could give her, the one he would always give her.  _I’m here. I won’t leave you. You can trust me._

How long they stayed like that, Marianne wasn’t sure. All she knew that Bog was there, and as long as she held onto him, she wouldn’t shatter into a million pieces, the shards of her faith and her trust and her heart flying wild and sharp and jagged, piercing all around her.  _He had broken her so badly, she hadn’t been able to let anyone in, couldn’t trust anyone, not her family, not even herself_  -  

Marianne let out another sob, one that seemed to come from her very soul, and Bog pressed a kiss below her ear, the gesture clumsy and heartfelt. “ _Shhhh_ , Tough Girl, you’re –“

 _“I’m not – you shouldn’t -”_  Marianne hiccuped and sniffled, leaning away to wipe her eyes so she could look at him properly. Her eyes were burning and swollen, her nose runny, and as Bog’s eyes traced over her face, the miserable cast to her features undeniable, she felt so humiliated. “You s-shouldn’t call me – I’m  _not_  tough, not after - I’ve tried to be strong, always,  _all the time_ , I h-have to, even when-”

Bog’s brow was furrowing in confusion, and Marianne once again felt a keen shame pierce her.  _He shouldn’t see her like this._  She ducked her head, her shoulders drawing up, mouth trembling. Her voice was ragged and soft and full of heartbreaking conviction. “ _I’m so weak -"_

 _“Marianne,”_  Claws dipped under her chin, and she was suddenly looking up into bright blue eyes, serious and burning. “Nothing could make you weak.  _Nothing.”_   

She tilted her head away, closing her eyes, tears dripping from her lashes. “Don’t say that –"

“I’m saying it because it’s true.” He forced her to look at him again, and the raw need to comfort her, to make her understand was so plain upon his face Marianne felt her breath catch. “You’re the strongest person I know, Tough Girl. Nothing could break you.”

Marianne felt herself crumble, torn between desperate love for him and a wave of miserable truth. She bit at her lip, keeping a sob in. Oh, but she  _had_ been broken, shattered beyond recognition, the shards of her heart stabbing all near her,  _too harsh, not enough, different_   –

She let her head fall to his shoulder, right between the crook of his neck and his shoulder plates. The prickle of his scales bit into her forehead, which already felt tender and heavy with exhaustion. She inhaled deeply and let her sigh gust from her, her shoulders trembling, tears still dripping from her eyes and falling onto him, salty little raindrops of misery…

Bog nuzzled at the crown of her head, her hair getting caught in the thorny stubble of his jaw. “Marianne…what happened?”

She shrank in his arms, and dammit,  _her tears would just not end_. “It’s –  _I can’t_  –"

One set of claws twined into her locks while the other palmed her jaw, cradling her face, and she looked up at him, at his beautiful eyes so blue and so desperate to understand and help. She tried to collect herself, inhaling. “Dad – Dad and I h-had a horrible –" her voice broke and she ducked her head down, so ashamed, “- _horrible_  fight. It was  _so awful_ , and I just  _c-couldn’t_ stay –"

“You fought with your father?” Bog seemed surprised. Though she supposed she couldn’t blame him, he had heard her regularly grouse about the various disagreements that went down between her and the King of the Fairies, but she had never been pushed to tears before. “What…what about?”

Marianne sniffled, humiliation still burning in her breast, the bud tucked there cool against her hot skin. “He – started m-making comments about Sunny, and I called him a bully a-and I told him –" She stopped, pain blossoming anew.

Bog wasn’t deterred, ducking his head to look her in the eye. “Told him  _what_ , Tough Girl?”

Marianne sighed and closed her eyes, her voice a raw little murmur. “…That it wasn’t fair of him to take his unhappiness over you and me out on Sunny.”  

Bog drew back at that, his face full of pained understanding. “… _Ah_.”

“Yeah…” Marianne wiped her eyes with the back of her hands, the rough skin of her knuckles catching a bit at her skin. “So he got mad as hell about that, and we started going at it, and -” her voice got throaty again with tears, and she tried to soldier on, “a-and then he –"

But her voice broke, and she let out a sob.  _“He brought up Roland.”_ She sniffled, and her voice was desperate, full of pain. _“God, **why**  would he do that?!”_ 

Bog could only stare at her, his eyes huge. “He… _he said that to you -?”_

Marianne nodded miserably, letting her head hang, turmoil and tears thick and heavy behind her skull, and she scrunched her fingers at the scales of his collar. “I just – after  _all_  this time, after  _everything_ , after seeing what that son of a bitch was going to  _do_  to me, he still –" Marianne’s voice shook, high and thready, and her fingers curled into helpless fists.  _“He still -!”_

His fingers, still in her hair, pulled her closer, and she was once more pressed to him as she shook. “I’m sorry,” Bog murmured. “ _I’m so sorry_ ,  _darling_.”

Marianne let herself melt against him, her tears already making her soft and pliant in his arms, and she breathed in and out, counting her breaths, trying to keep her heartbeat measured. His skin was cool and dry, a relief in the muggy evening. Marianne nuzzled against him, her tears burning at her eyes, and long fingers stroked her back, cool and comforting and strong.

When she spoke, her voice was stronger and calmer, but still husky with pain. “So, I flew away. And I never fly away from fights, but this time –“ Her fingers locked at his neck. “ _I just had to get to you. I had to.”_  

Bog held her tight, and she wriggled as deep as she could get into his embrace.  _“I’m here.”_

She pushed her face into the crook of his neck, her eyes still glimmering with tears but her voice a ragged whisper of gratitude.  _“I know.”_

He held her, gently rocking her back and forth, one set of claws stroking through her hair while the other ran up and down between her wings, soft and slow. How long they stayed like that, Marianne didn’t know and didn’t care. She merely closed her eyes, surrendering to the feel of him, to the knowledge that he was there, he was holding her,  _he wouldn’t leave her_ …

After a while, Bog cleared his throat, his voice soft and hesitant when he spoke. “What…what do you want to do?”

Marianne gave a slow, shuddery exhale, and leaned back to look around her. She had so feared this place once, the Forest with its deep shadows, hiding all manner of things, its strange blooms and plants, twisting and dangerous and sharp. And now…

The glow of the bioluminescence growth and the dark of the night melded together, and she  _knew_.

Her whisper was ragged and soft. “I want to go home.”

Bog drew back a bit at that, surprised, but then recovered. “I – alright, just –" Still not letting go of her, he fumbled a bit, reaching for his scepter. “I’ll need to let the mushrooms know that I’m going over to your Kingdom –"

“No,” Marianne interrupted, placing a finger to Bog’s lips to hush him, and he looked at her, confused once more. Her voice was still soft and scratchy, but now gently empathetic. “Bog, I want to go  _home.”_  She gave a soft nod to where his Castle lay, her eyes wet and serious. 

He stared at her, eyes wide and so achingly blue in the moonlight, and Marianne curled her fingers around his face, stroking the sharp line of it softly. “ _Please,”_  she murmured.

He looked away from her and looked back at his Castle, dark and foreboding and familiar. She saw the line of his throat work a bit as he swallowed, quietly overwhelmed, before he looked back at her, and  _oh_ , the look in his eyes….

“Aye,” Bog whispered, nodding softly, the scrape of his claws so gentle against her skin. “Aye…we’ll go home.”

Marianne lay her head against his shoulder, the fatigue of misery already making her sink against him, and Bog gripped her tightly as he took to the air, flying quickly back the refuge they both needed tonight.  _Home._   

* * *

Bog’s chambers were swathed in shadow, the dim light of twilight barely cutting a path across the floor. Marianne, her head still aching somewhat from all of her crying, was quietly thankful. It wasn’t like light in Bog’s room was ever harsh – the smattering of luminescent fungi on the walls gave a faint speckle of a glow, and the light from the amber-paned lanterns was soft and golden and warm, lovely and comforting. But the shadows served as a cover, and Marianne was still feeling fragile enough to want to hide in their comforting darkness as long as she could, her eyes red and sore, still fresh with pain.

Thank goodness that they could be alone. At least she was somewhat okay with Bog seeing her like this. But if anyone else did…

Griselda had hurried down the hall to them as they flew in through the entrance, a welcoming grin stretching across her wide mouth. “ _Sweet-pea!_ Good ta see ya, honey! I didn’t think we would get to see ya anytime soon, what with your crownin’ getting so close, thought ya would be too busy over at the –"

She had stopped abruptly, her beady eyes widening as she took in the Fairy Princess, folded up in her son’s arms, her features weary with misery.

The little Gobliness’s jaw had set and her brow lowered dangerously, and when she spoke, it had been in the voice of the King’s Mother, fierce and low and promising all kinds of hell on those who dared to mess with her own. “What happened? Who did this to her?”

Marianne had scrunched herself further into Bog’s embrace, both embarrassed and touched. “Griselda, don’t – it’s okay – I’m –"

“We need to be alone,” Bog had said, his tone short but the look in his eyes almost gravely pleading.

Griselda had nodded sharply, knowing her usual chatter had no place here. “Is she hurt, Boggy?” 

“No,” Bog had replied, and Griselda’s shoulders had sagged with relief. Despite the haze of pain that still clung to her, Marianne had felt a warm glow of affection for the little Goblin and her motherly concern.

Bog gritted his teeth and looked around the hall of the entrance, clearly wary. “But the sooner we’re alone – I want no –"

“Stuff and Thang will answer to me tonight,” Griselda had said promptly, nodding. “There will be all kinds of fiery death to any idiot who tries to disturb ya.” Her face then softened, looking at the Fairy Princess cradled so protectively in her boy’s arms. “Take care of her, honey.”

Marianne had given a little grumble, the  _I can take care of myself_  on the tip of her tongue. But then…that wasn’t really true, was it? Clinging to Bog like a needy vine, tears drying stiff upon her cheeks. She hadn’t been strong enough to take care of herself, to hold back the pain.  _A Princess playing at Warrior, no true Tough Girl_ \-  

Now, with no one but Bog to witness her fragile state, Marianne dropped from his arms to the floor, crossing with soft steps to the window as Bog went to check the door. Arms wrapping around herself, Marianne looked out at the Forest, the wild and frightening and beautiful place that had become a second home to her without either of them noticing. Her eyes took in the wild bracken and thorny thickets, bathed in quickly collecting shadows, and she sighed, tremulous and overwhelmed.  _I belong here…_

She leaned on the ledge of the window, and felt a soft, silken brush against her collarbone. Frowning slightly, Marianne looked down and saw the bud she had taken from the border, dark petals closed as tightly as ever. She drew it out, holding it before her, amber eyes softly studying it. The flowers here usually bloomed under moonlight, but this one seemed determined stay closed off, guarding its tenderness…

Sighing, Marianne placed it on the window’s edge, where the moonlight would undoubtedly pour in. Maybe then the little thing would feel more comfortable. She moved over to the bed before softly plopping onto the lush moss, fresh and springy and cool. Marianne stroked a hand over it, her fingers splaying pale and long against it. “Thanks,” she murmured, keeping her eyes on her hand, letting herself continue petting the blanket. “For bringing me back.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Bog give a slight shrug, clearly awkward. “It was no problem.” He coughed slightly and scratched a claw at his neck, eyes darting down. “Very least I could do.”

He looked back up at her, his eyes getting earnest and serious as he took her in, hunched over and tighter than a knot of wood. His hand dropped, and his voice was soft. “Marianne, truly…is there anything else? That would help?”

Marianne sighed. “I wish, but…it’s fine, Bog. I’ve fought with Dad before.” It had never hurt her like  _that_ , but that was a matter for another day. “I’ll…I’ll figure out what to do. I can take care of it.”  _I can take care of myself_.

Bog looked at her, his brow furrowed. “Has…has he done this before? Mentioned…” he grimaced slightly, “…Roland?”

Marianne winced, and drew in a breath. “No,” she said a bit shortly. “He hasn’t. This is the first time he has since –" She stopped, her heart starting to quicken with pain once more.

Bog watched her, and then quietly continued her sentence. “…Since that wretch tried to dust you with the Love Potion.”

Marianne sighed again, deep and harsh. “ _Yeah._  Which Dad saw.” Her hand gripped at the moss, tearing it a bit, and she quickly locked her arms around her knees, drawing them up and close and tight.  _After everything, after you saw what he tried to do to me –_

She shook her head and focused on her fingers, knitting them together. “To be fair, Dad  _knows_ he was wrong about Roland, knows how much he manipulated everything with the Potion, but…” She clenched her jaw. “I thought…I just thought, after all this time…”

The bed dipped under Bog’s weight as he sat next to her, his expression serious. “That he would have reconciled himself to…us.”

Marianne gave a miserable shrug of a shoulder, nodding unhappily. “Yeah…”

His knuckles brushed against hers, and she readily pressed her hands into his, once again struck by how large they were compared to hers, how sharp and wild they looked as they cradled her hands so gently. She drew her fingertips over the back of it, tracing all the little lines there, the bumps of his gnarled knuckles.

“I’m sorry.” His voice was soft and rough and full of regret. Marianne looked up sharply, but Bog continued to look down at their joined fingers, dark and light and smooth and rough interweaving. “I…” he sighed, and continued on, a soft sadness to his voice. “Marianne, I swear, I wish I hadn’t brought this upon you. I know that…we’ve both have had to face things like this, but…if your own  _father_  went as far as that because of you and I –"

 _“Bog,”_  Marianne interrupted, her face smoldering with protective anger.  _“Bog, this changes nothing between us._ Nothing Dad does or say could change  _this_.” She gestured between them, nodding at their locked hands. Her gaze fairly scorched him as she met his eyes, her honesty and earnestness were so intense. “I have never once doubted this. And I’m not gonna start now.”

Bog stared at her and then glanced down, his throat working a bit and his grip tightening. Marianne, feeling a dull pulse of pain and love, gently untangled one of her hands to brush along his cheek, before sighing. “Honestly…it was the Roland thing that really got to me.” She grimaced and looked away. “I…I wasn’t expecting that. I try not to waste any more time on him if I can help it, and hearing Dad say that was…” She sighed once more, her face almost forlorn, “… _disappointing_ , I guess.”

Bog watched her, taking in her face. When he spoke, she could tell he was choosing his words carefully. “If your father…still hasn’t accepted us, is there… does he still have the hope that you…and…and him –?”

Marianne snorted, misery making it dry. “ _No_. Like I said, he knows he was wrong. And Roland’s off gallivanting with that flea. But…” She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, her eyes getting sad and pensive, “…I guess some stuff put down roots.”  _Ones that couldn’t be pulled, bias and prejudice and stubbornness growing deep, twisting and snarling into her father’s otherwise stalwart and warm character…_

She felt a flash of pain at the truth of that thought, and continued, her tone full of regret and disappointment. “Dad…Dad was  _really_  attached to the idea that Roland would succeed him as King.” She laughed softly, and it was a bitter, bitter thing. “Guess I wasn’t the only one smitten.”

Bog drew back a bit at that, his own gaze getting dark and pensive, and Marianne immediately wanted to chastise herself. While neither of them had ever doubted the other, both of them could still get insecure over the other’s first love and how they compared. Even if Marianne only spoke of Roland in sneers and mocking tones, and despite the fact that Bog  _never_  spoke of the mysterious Goblin girl, the pain of both heartbreaks was still very real, a throbbing, only-just-healing-over thing.

Bog cleared his throat and nodded at the windows of the room, still open to the quickly darkening Forest, night falling fast and steady, the sky fading from violet to velvety blue-black, the moon climbing a fast silver path. “I’ll…I’ll get the windows, if you’d like. And the lanterns. You’ll stay the night?”

Marianne nodded silently, and Bog quickly rose and crossed to the lanterns, grabbing the flint from one the desks in his alcoves. Marianne wearily passed a hand through her hair, exhaling softly. Her eyes then fell on the window, where her little bud lay, still so tightly closed…

_Still holding itself in so desperately, so afraid…_

_“So now, I keep my guard up….”_

_“Me too.”_

_“And most important, **I never trust anybody** …”_

It had been so long since she had. Roland had seen to that.  She had thought she’d been done with Trust as well as Love. That had been the plan, written in anger, sworn in heartbreak, and she had expected nothing to change her mind.

But she could have  _never_  expected Bog…

By now, Bog had lit some of the lanterns, bring a soft, muted glow to only half of the room, Marianne still bathed in shadows. With a slight sigh, he went to the window where her flower lay, claws reaching out to close the latches.

Marianne watched him, her heart thudding queerly in her chest, before looking down at her hands. “I never told you,” she said quietly, “about what happened between me and Roland.”

Bog stopped and then turned, his expression a mix of surprise and wariness.

Marianne bit her lip and looked back down, the look in his eyes making her feel so nervous and shaky, watching her fingers twist into the moss beneath her. “I…I’ve never told anyone…” she murmured, her gaze becoming withdrawn, her shoulders hunching slightly.

She hadn’t noticed him coming closer, but then claws were gently tilting her chin up. He knelt in front her, so she could look at him straight on, and his bright blue eyes were serious. “And you never have to.”

Marianne blinked and then drew back a bit, her melancholy retreating for confusion. “But…aren’t you…?” She drew in a shaky breath and tried to marshal her thoughts. “It would make things a bit more fair, though, wouldn’t it?” She said as lightly as she could, her attempt at levity feeling brittle on her tongue. “I mean,  _I_ know what happened to you –"

“Plum had no right to tell you,” Bog interrupted, his eyes going grim. “Having her reveal that– making me relive that, in front of you –" He looked away, his jaw tensing, before continuing in a softer tone. “It was a pain I would not wish on anyone, least of all on you. Even if it told us the antidote, it wasn’t her tale to tell.” His eyes were so achingly sincere it almost hurt to look at him. “Marianne, I swear to you, you don’t have to tell me  _anything_.”

Marianne looked at him, so lost. “But don’t you want to know -?”  

“I know that he hurt you.” Bog’s rough voice was soft, his touch softer still as he stroked a claw through her hair. “That’s good enough for me. I shan’t demand more of you.”

His sheer kindness almost made Marianne weep all over again, and she had to close her eyes even as her hand reached up to cradle his cheek, his own hand immediately circling her wrist comfortingly. She gave a shaky exhale, overwhelmed by it all.  _Why couldn’t Dad trust me like you do?_

She focused and opened her eyes, a determined glint to their brilliant hazel. “I…want to tell you.” Bog opened his mouth and she put a finger to his lips, talking quickly and earnestly. “I know, I know I don’t  _have_  to tell you, but…” she paused, taking a steadying breath, “I…want to. I  _need_  to, I’ve been holding it in for so long, I need to tell someone, and…” she stroked the sharp line of his face, his prickles catching at her skin in their familiar bite, “…and I want it to be you.”

Bog looked down, looking torn, before he fixed her with a look that nearly burned her with how earnestly serious it was.  _“Only if you want to,”_  he murmured fiercely, and Marianne’s heart pounded at those familiar words, remembering how he had said the same thing to her before she bared herself to him.

Now here she was, about to do it all over again in an even more daunting way…

His claws threaded through her hair once more before dropping to her neck, where her pulse was fluttering like mad. The fierce heat of his eyes turned gentle as his fingers traced over it, feeling how it raced. “If you want to… I’ll listen.”

Marianne closed her eyes, once again lost to the sheer onslaught of emotion his words provoked. He would  _always_  listen to her,  _always_  accept her, when no one else had listened, when she had shut herself away for so long, her trust so horribly shattered after everything –

She trusted him. Heart and soul, broken and battered as they were, she trusted him.

She nodded, before twining her fingers with his and bringing both of their hands to her lap, and Bog moved to sit by her, his eyes never leaving her face. Breathing deep, she opened her eyes to fix them on the sight of their fingers, so incredibly different, laced together in front of her. She slowly exhaled.  _C’mon, Tough Girl._

“I told you that I almost married him,” she began softly, and out of the corner of her eye she saw Bog nod. “It…it was the day of the wedding. I had never been more excited in my life.” A faint grin pulled at her lips. “Dawn was practically throwing a fit over how messy I was getting, racing around, getting dirt on my wedding dress, but…I was just…I was so damn  _happy_. I was getting married, I was…” Her smile faded. “ _I was so in love._  ”

A soft glint of pain came into Bog’s eyes at that, and Marianne hurried on. “One thing fairies do before weddings – before any big occasion – girls give their sweethearts boutonnieres.” Bog let out a soft snort, no doubt remembering Dawn’s own little gift to him, and Marianne betrayed a soft grin before continuing. “So there I was, twigs in my hair and petals clutched in my hand, making one for Roland to wear at the ceremony, flying from flower to flower, head in the clouds, and then I fell into the Forest –"

_“What?”_

Marianne sighed. “Yeah…god, that shook me up. Some goblins thought I was trying to take a primrose petal, they almost grabbed me before I escaped –" She paused, concerned. “Bog? Bog, what is it?”

His face had gone pale, his eyes huge. “ _Ah cannae believe it…”_

Marianne reached out a concerned hand, truly worried. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

He looked at her, still looking absolutely gob-smacked.  “ _Ah…Ah remember ye.”_  

Marianne stared at him, her brow scrunched and utterly confused.

Obviously trying to recover, Bog grimaced and waved a claw in a would-be dismissive gesture. “It’s not – we can talk about it later –"

Marianne was tempted to press him for more, partly out of curiosity and partly as a way to stall her own tale. But she had to be brave. So she took a deep breath and continued.

“Anyway, I got away and found Roland, and I was all set to give him the boutonniere. But then he realized I had been in the Forest and started lecturing me, and then – I just got  _distracted_ , he  _always_  ended up doing that to me, always sent me spinning -”  Marianne suddenly gave a rough, almost ugly laugh. “And he  _knew_  it, that – he  _knew_  what he did to me, and he  _used_  it, used  _me_  –"

_God, she had been so painfully naive, so willfully weak, so eager to be controlled, happily swallowing his lies –_

Claws touched gently at her arm, a comfort and a reminder.  _You’re rid of him. He’s gone. You defeated him._

Marianne exhaled. Had she  _really_ , though? After all this time, the scars Roland left her with still managed to make her ache, this night had only proved that –

She sighed, rubbing a hand over her face, and forced herself to continue. “Anyways, he rode off and I sighed over him like a moony little idiot. And then Dawn found me and started fussing over what a mess I was. And I realized I hadn’t given the boutonnière to Roland, but she made me a new one and I –" Marianne snorted bitterly, her eyes going hard. “I actually asked her,  _right before I was going to marry him_ , if she thought that Roland loved me as much as I loved him.” She gave a harsh groan, frustration and regret and anger contorting her face. “God,  _even then_ , I knew that  _something_  was up, that  _something_  was wrong! But I was just so  _happy_  being so damn  _blind -!”_

 _“Marianne.”_  Bog’s voice was gentle but firm.

She sighed once more, her shoulders slumping. “ _Right._  Sorry. So I fly off after him, eager as hell to give him the one Dawn made, so  _happy_  about everything, so  _excited_  about getting married, so  _ready_  to find him –" She stopped, and swallowed thickly.  _You can do this. You have to._

She continued on, praying that her voice didn’t sound as tight as her throat was beginning to feel. “And…and I found him…” Her voice faltered, getting thready and high. It was hard to breathe, and her eyes were burning, she could feel the tears trembling, just waiting to spill down her cheeks _. Oh god, no, please no, no more tears_  –

She looked up and desperately blinked as hard as she could, and she noticed with a vague sort of detachment that she was shaking, tiny little shivers, trembling like a leaf -

Bog moved closer, deep concern on his face. “Marianne, I swear, you don’t –"

She quickly held up a hand, the meaning clear.  _Just give me a moment. I can do this_.

Bog halted, but his beautiful eyes still watched her intently, and he was tensed, as if ready to swoop in and stop this agony she was putting herself through. Was  _he_  nervous to hear what had happened, what had hurt her so?

Marianne shook her head a bit.  _Focus. You’ve come this far, you can’t go back. You need to do this._ But oh,  _this_  is why she had never told anyone, never could, it was –  _humiliating_ , torturous, reliving that pain, that moment when she had seen him –

 _Do it. Say it. Don’t give him that power to hurt you any longer. He took so much away from you_ ,  _your trust, your faith, your happiness, your love_  -  

She breathed out, a shuddery little exhale, and looked down, and she felt the tears once more.  _C’mon, Tough Girl._  “And I found him, alright…” she closed her eyes, the familiar, horrible pain sweeping over her, the tears spilling hot and humiliating down her cheeks, “…in the arms of another girl.  _On the day of our wedding.”_

In the midst of her reawakened misery, she heard Bog give a sharp inhale. Whatever he had been expecting, it hadn’t been that.    

Marianne let out a gusty breath and wiped her tears away, her fingers hard and impatient against her skin. “Still, guess I should be thankful, huh? At least he was considerate enough for me to catch him before I actually married him, right?” Her voice was as dry and bitter as sun-scorched seeds. “Imagine what would have happened if I had found out  _after–"_

Bog’s voice was soft and anguished. “ _Marianne –"_

“Totally saved myself a lot of sorrow, you know?” Marianne sniffed and looked away, her eyes still burning. “Sure got a lot less blind after that. Finally saw him for what he was.” Her fist clenched in her lap. “Finally saw myself for the fool I had been.”

He immediately gathered her in his arms, almost rough with urgency as he cradled her to him, tucking her as close as she could get. Marianne surrendered to it, going limp against him, tucking her head under his chin. His scales and prickly segments scratched at her skin, the familiar texture and friction already soothing her raw and aching nerves.

“ _Ye’re nae a fool,”_  he murmured against the crown of her head, and she closed her eyes once more, a far different pain lancing through her heart.  _“Ye’re nae.”_  A hand, large and rough and warm, rubbed up and down her back, a warm and comforting weight between her wings. “ _He is_.” His grip got a bit tighter, and she could practically hear him baring his fangs, “It seems… tha’ Ah severely underestimated tha’ whelps sheer  _idiocy_.”

Marianne gave a ragged, damp little chuckle. “That he let himself get caught cheating on me the day of the wedding?” _He had gotten so close, had almost gotten away with it –_

 _“Tha’ he would seek another out when he had ye.”_  Claws dipped under her chin, and Marianne found herself looking up into Bog’s face, almost thunderous with anger. When he spoke, the incomprehension in his voice carried that same rage, making him sound almost feral, his brow furrowed, his fangs bared.  _“ **He had ye.**  How could tha’ idiot even **look**  at anyone else when he had  **ye**?”_  

Marianne stared up at him, at his livid and honest bewilderment, and felt her lip begin to tremble.  _Because I wasn’t enough. Because I was too different._

_And I still am._

Her eyes began to glimmer once more with tears, and Bog’s face immediately melted out of its harsh anger and into heartbroken sympathy, desperate compassion. “Aw,  _sweetheart_ , no, I’m – I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have –" He hastily wiped at her tears, his claws clumsily earnest, almost scratching her. “I just – I can’t believe –"

 _“What,”_  Marianne rasped out, her voice choked and her eyes stinging,  _“did I do to deserve you?”_

Bog only had a moment to pause in confusion when she threw herself against him once more, her fingers hooking into him desperately, her body shaking with tears that would not be denied. He immediately wound his arms around her even tighter, petting her hair, murmuring gently, the words lost to his accent but the tenderness still there.  

How long they stayed like that, Marianne couldn’t tell. Her tears seemed endless, burning down her skin in hot, wet little paths, itching as they dried. Bog’s hands continued to stroke through her hair and down her back, never ceasing in their comfort.

She finally sniffled and pulled herself back up, wiping at her eyes and nose with the back of her hand. Her hands came away stained with berry juice - her makeup was probably a complete mess.  _Like that mattered_. She was beyond caring if her nose was snotty and gross or if she looked disgusting, and she knew Bog could give a damn too.

Bog slid his claws through her hair one last time, his thumb grazing the curve of her ear, when he breathed out and spoke, his voice soft and unsure. “What…what did you do?”

Marianne snorted, her voice still scratchy from the remnants of tears. “What else could I do? I flew away, told everyone the wedding was off, and locked myself in my room to sob my heart out.” She gave a cynical, tear-edged smirk. “You know, I had always thought it was an exaggeration?  _A breaking heart?_  But I swear, as soon as I saw that,  _him_  – it was – it was like–"

“Like it was truly shattering.” Bog’s voice was quiet, a weary certainty to it. Marianne looked up at him sharply as he went on, his face grim. “Ye can’t feel anythin’ but the shards of it cuttin’ ye through, an’ all the while it’s pounding away in yer ears, even though tha’ wretched thing is rendin’ itself apart, an’ –" He stopped himself and breathed, deep and shaky, obviously trying to collect himself.

Marianne stared at him with wide eyes, barely breathing, and oh god,  _oh god,_   ** _of course_** -

_“I know all about getting your heart broken.”_

Her heart contracted with a fierce painfulness _. Oh, Bog…_

She gripped his hand, silent and fierce, her eyes burning in desperate empathy. He gripped it back, his claws digging into her skin with an almost sweet pain as he held onto her. No words needed to be said.

But there was still more to her tale, and Marianne tried to collect herself so she could continue. “So, there I was…laying on my bed, crying like I would never stop, like the pain would never end.” Her expression hardened. “Then I got pissed. At myself, at Roland, and at Love. That stopped the tears right away.” She remembered the feel of it, her anger and determination boiling up inside of her so hot and fast she could have sworn her tears dried as soon as they fell to her cheeks.

She shrugged her shoulders back, breathing in.  “So…I used that. I let myself be angry, let myself do a lot of things I had never dared to do before. Took up fighting, started dressing in dark clothes and makeup, stopped giving a damn what others thought of me. Generally scared the hell out of everyone in the Kingdom.” One hand clenched into a fist, knuckles tight and white. “Drove my family away, can’t forget that. They were used to clumsy, happy, romantic Marianne, not…” She sighed and waved a hand at herself, her lips twisting. “ _This._  Angry and independent and not appropriate and loud and…and…” Her shoulders slumped, and her voice got small, “…and miserable.”

Bog’s hand passed over her head, dropping to cradle the curve of her skull, and she leaned back into the touch, closing her eyes. When he spoke, he sounded like he already knew the answer. “And rage was preferable to misery, aye?”

Marianne sighed and nodded, her eyes still closed. “ _God, yes_. I sure as hell wasn’t going to waste any more tears or time on Roland. Misery made me weak, and I was done with that too. Anger was better. Anger helped me be stronger. Anger was fuel.”

She stopped and slumped, her head bowing as she sighed. “But it was… _exhausting_. And if I got too tired, stopped being angry, then…it got bad.” Marianne looked away, uncomfortable. “At least I could make anger into a weapon, something useful. I had no control over misery. I…couldn’t sleep some nights, and food…it was like it had no taste.” She shrugged, feeling incredibly small. “So, some nights I couldn’t sleep and some days I didn’t eat. And it was all because of  _him_ , him and Love. So I would get angry all over again.” She sighed once more, weary. “Not a great cycle. Wasn’t fun.”

Bog looked at her, and there was something in his eyes, a worry that went dark and deep. “But you…” he stopped and bit his lip, looking away before he continued, his voice hesitant and low. “But you didn’t…do that on  _purpose,_ did you?You didn’t… _try_ to harm yourself?”

Marianne shook her head, snorting sourly. “No, I never did it on purpose, it was punishment enough –" His words sunk in and her head snapped to him, her eyes wide. “ _Wait_  – Bog…you…you didn’t try to -?”

Bog continued to look away, his shoulders hunching, his gaze going somewhere dark and withdrawn.

Horror flooded Marianne, and she scrambled closer to him, one hand going over her mouth as the other reached for him. “ _Oh god, Bog, no –"_

“No, it – truly, it was an accident –" Bog said hastily, rising out of his slouch, his eyes earnest. “There was –" he grimaced. “It was right after the - there was this mirror, and I just – I couldn’t bear to see –" He stopped and exhaled wearily, before holding out his right hand to her.

Marianne took it, fingers tracing over those long fingers and gnarled knuckles, eyes wide. There, right across the meat of his palm, was a ragged slash, as though a shard of something had become stuck there. The skin of it was shiny and raised – the wound had obviously been deep. She let out a thready exhale, bile rising in her.  _Oh god_ …

“I did not mean to.” Bog’s voice was quiet. “But afterwards…even with the pain…there…there was the temptation. As horrible as it felt…it was almost a relief, compared to the agony of…”

“Heartbreak…” Marianne finished softly, her voice a frayed whisper. Her eyesight blurred, new tears swimming in her eyes, though none of them were for her.

Gently as she could, she cupped his hand and brought it to her cheek, leaning into his palm. She closed her eyes, overwhelmed, and a tear, bright and shining in the midst of light and shadow, fell from her lashes and onto the scar with perfect precision.

Bog inhaled, soft and quick, and soon a large thumb, claws careful, stroked across the satiny smoothness of her cheek, catching any further tears. She could almost hear his thoughts; they were so plain in the gesture.  _Don’t shed those for me, Tough Girl…_

Marianne’s voice was soft and uncompromising. “Promise me you’ll never do that to yourself.”

His hand twitched under hers , and his voice was pained. “Marianne, it wasn’t – I only thought –"

Her eyes flared at him, protectiveness giving her voice a bite.  ** _“Promise me, Bog.”_**

He sighed, clearly torn between discomfort and his desire to satisfy her. “There truly is no need to fear it happening –" Marianne opened her mouth but he continued on “-but I promise you…I won’t.” He looked down, his jaw tensing. “That was…they were dark times. I like to think I’ve banished those shadows.”

Marianne said nothing, and merely moved his hand to her lap, cradling it. She wasn’t going to badger him further. He had promised her, and she believed him. That was enough.

The following silence was deep, almost soothing after such remembered pain. Then Bog sighed, his eyes hesitant as he looked at her. “Did…did ye truly love him?”

Marianne gave him a deeply sad smile. “It wouldn’t have hurt so much if I hadn’t.” Bog dropped his head at that, his expression grim with acceptance, and Marianne felt another dull pulse of pain and shame. No one got to  _choose_  who they loved – the heart wanted what it wanted. As horribly as it burned to reconcile, her first real experience of falling in love had been with an utterly horrible person who wasn’t at all worthy of her. And yet…

Marianne bit her lip, before continuing. “But…” she paused, Bog looking up at her sharply. “I…I think I loved the  _idea_  of him more.”

Bog cocked his head, puzzled, and Marianne sighed before speaking, slowly and carefully, trying to put it into words. “Even before that mess…I was different from other fairies. I was too passionate, too clumsy, never quiet and demure when I should have been. I had radical opinions that I didn’t know how to keep to myself. Things like that.” Marianne fiddled with her hair. “Dawn was always…more popular than me, the prettier one…and yeah, okay, I was the Crown Princess, but…if it weren’t for my crown, I’m sure I would have been a lot less tolerated.” She sighed, her shoulders slumping. “So, when Roland started paying attention to me, I guess…I guess I was just so  _happy._  A guy like him looking at  _me_ , of all people…”

Bog’s brows lowered, eyes pensive and darkening. “A guy like  _him_ …”

Marianne looked at him and bit her lip, wondering if she could explain. “You’ve got to understand – Roland was  _everything_  fairies admired. He was from a noble house, he was a Knight, he was so effortlessly charming…” Marianne paused and gave a bitter laugh. “And so,  _so_  good looking. And he wanted  _me_. If someone like  _him_  wanted someone like  _me_ , maybe…maybe I wasn’t such a freak after all.”

She drew in a shaky breath, and slid her hands back into his, his claws winding around them readily. “And when I found out the truth about him, it…it finally proved to me what I had always been afraid of. No one would want me for  _me_ , just for my crown. That no one would ever  _really_  love me, that…” Marianne’s voice cracked, and she gave a shaky exhale, her voice a whisper of still keen heartache,  _“…that I was too different to be loved.”_

Bog’s hands nearly crushed hers, his grip became so painfully tight at that. Marianne didn’t try to wrest her hands away, didn’t tell him to stop. All the pain did was serve as a reminder that  _this was real_ , that  _he_  was real, that he was real and here and he was here for  _her_.  

She still paused before speaking again, her eyes burning. “Even after I realized what a scumbag he really was, even if I  _knew_  I was lucky to have been saved from a marriage with him…that still stayed with me, the idea that there was something… _in_  me that meant I could never be loved, not for who I was, who I am.” Bog looked as though he desperately wanted to interrupt her, his hands now rubbing at her shivering arms, but Marianne continued on. “It hurt so much…” her hands drew away from his to clench in her lap, her knuckles white. “So I used that hurt, made that pain into a wall, made my differences into a weapon. I swore off Love and promised myself to never be so naive and vulnerable again.”

“But do you know what really hurt?” Marianne paused before giving another soft, bitter laugh. “Aside from the fact that my first love was a cheating, power hungry idiot?”  She moved her hands to twist them into the blanket, clutching at the moss as if it were a lifeline. “ _I couldn’t trust myself after that._  If I had been so blind about Roland, so willing to ignore all the signs…how could I ever trust my judgment again? I couldn’t take that chance, couldn’t take getting hurt like that all over again. Being alone…it wasn’t fun, but it was better than being hurt.”

She sighed, feeling so very tired. “So, I couldn’t trust myself. And then I couldn’t trust anyone. Roland was popular, and he had everyone assuming that I was  _overreacting_ , that it was just a  _misunderstanding._  Even my father…” Marianne paused again, feeling her throat get tight again.  _“My own father.”_   

Bog’s palm cradled the nape of her neck before drawing his fingers gently through her hair, and she looked down, her eyes burning. “Dawn…Dawn never really understood. But at least she listened to me when I said I was done with Roland and with Love. Things might have gotten strained between us, but…at least there was that. Her main thing was me trying to look after her.”

Bog’s claws were still softly tracing gentle lines over and down her scalp. “And telling anyone…”

Marianne sighed. “I just couldn’t. Each time I even contemplated it, actually saying it out loud was just…too painful.” She felt Bog nod, and was once again miserably grateful that she needn’t explain further, wretchedly thankful that he knew with painful clarity exactly what she meant, understood and empathized with her entirely.

Marianne looked away, her eyes now dry but still prickling all the same. “But then, Dad kept pushing me to give Roland a second chance. He ignored me each time I said I was never going back to him, ignored how uncomfortable I was. He had good intentions, I guess. He wanted me to be happy, to not be alone. But…there were other things. I think…I think he saw  _himself_ in Roland.”

Bog looked taken aback. “Your father has his flaws, but surely that’s going a bit –"

Marianne rolled her eyes. “Roland was about to marry the Crown Princess of the Fairy Kingdom, about to step into the role of being King. Once upon a time, that was Dad with Mom.” Bog started at that, surprised, and Marianne rolled a shoulder in a shrug. “He was sensitive about not being… _born_  to rule. Still is to some degree. But he and Mom loved each other, and Mom wanted him by her side. I think…he saw me and Roland as a younger them.” She sighed. “You’re right…he has his flaws, and willful blindness is one of them.”

Marianne fiddled with her hair, combing fingers through it, her eyes pensive. “He loved me,  _does_  love me, but…he’s never really  _understood_  me. And this just proved it. He trusted  _Roland_  more than he trusted me.” She snorted sadly. “So… _that_  was lovely.” Her voice became morose with contemplation. “Maybe if I had just told him, told Dawn – Dawn wanted to know -"

Bog gave a slight growl of a hum. “Aye, maybe. But…your father should have listened to you. If you were telling him that you were done with that cur, then he should have respected you enough to not ignore you.”  

Even as her heart gave a painful ache of gratitude at his words, Marianne raised a brow at him. “Griselda kept pushing girls at you, doesn’t  _that_  count as ignoring –?”

Bog shrugged, his mouth getting a wry slant to it. “Aye, but…none of them was the person who hurt me.” His face suddenly got dark, his voice grim. “ _I_ brought that pain upon myself…”

Marianne watched him, not sure what to say. They had both had their hearts broken, yes, but…

Roland had hurt her, shattered her, but she had the choice and chance to fight back, to reject him and his smooth words – she had  _chosen_  to be alone. Bog…Bog had only ever been rejected. He had never had a choice…

_He chose to use the Love Potion…_

Marianne frowned at the traitorous thought before getting distracted by Bog, who let out another sigh, enormously weary. “As for not trusting yourself…I can understand that.”

Marianne looked at him curiously, and he looked away, shame in his eyes. “I was so…desperately in love, so lonely and heart-sore over that poor girl…I convinced myself it was fine to use the Potion on her. I gave myself reason after reason, lie upon lie - I was only speeding things up, surely she had to care for me, she had been so kind when we talked before…” His face darkened. “A King shouldn’t be so easily swayed. She was my subject, I was supposed to protect–" he stopped and drew a claw over his face, his face full of quiet self-loathing and guilt. “When I think about your sister, and how that could have been her – forced to love a thing like me –"

Marianne cut in, her voice harsh and heartfelt. “Bog,  _you are not a thing.”_

Bog laughed, bitter and soft. “Like that lessens the horror of it. My desperation didn’t justify my choice, nor my actions.” His fist curled upon his leg, and his voice was low, rough and rich with contempt. “I always knew I  _looked_  like a beast…but in that moment, so ready to use that damned Potion on that innocent lass, to force her into Love…I truly was a monster.”

Marianne set her jaw, torn between relief –  _he knew damn well he had made a poor choice, what with how regret poured off of him –_ and anger. She snagged his craggy chin and pulled him to her, forcing him to look at her.

“There is a difference,” she murmured, her eyes molten with heat and honesty, brilliant amber capturing vivid blue, “between being a beast and being a monster.” She thought back to Roland, his bright, soulless eyes, his gleaming teeth bared in a display to draw in prey, his shining and hollow armor, blinding and cold and inhuman.  _To think she had thought him handsome_. “Believe me, I know monsters. And you’re not one. The fact that you’re still beating yourself up over this proves that.”

Bog looked wary at her words, but the intense self-hatred in his face lessened somewhat, and Marianne cradled his face. Her lips lifted a bit in a slightly crooked, one-sided smile. “As for you being a beast…there’s nothing wrong with that. Heck, compared to other fairies, so am I. We match.” Her fingers dipped down his brow to glide along the harsh line of his cheek, soft and tender and almost teasing. “And I  _like_  beastliness, remember?”

Bog’s cheeks flushed, and he looked down at that, almost bashful. “Aye …”

Taking in the sight of him, this towering Goblin forged of spikes and fangs and claws and prickles and darkness and scales, so shy and soft with emotion, Marianne felt a surge of such deep love and affection go through her heart she was slightly breathless. She moved closer to him, letting herself sink against him, and his arm immediately looped around her waist. She sighed, leaning her head against his chest, breathing deep. For the first time during the whole evening, her chest no longer felt tight with tension and pain…

Bog nuzzled at her hair before suddenly speaking, his voice soft and perplexed. “ _Dawn’s_  considered the prettier one?”

Marianne was stock still for all of five seconds before she threw her head back and laughed, long and loud, and after all the emotional turmoil tonight,  _man_ , did it feel  _good_. “ ** _Wow_** _._  Oh god, Dawn would be  _so_ heartbroken if she heard you –"

“I’m not saying she’s not!” Bog protested hastily. “I just – I’m sure she’s very, um,  _lovely_ , but -”, his claws stroked at her arm, “she’s…well, she’s not  _you_.”

Marianne’s mouth twitched into a tiny grin of pleasure that she immediately squashed out of loyalty to Dawn. “Blonde hair and blue eyes trump brown hair and brown eyes,” she explained, and she was amazed to find that after everything that had taken place this evening, she was actually feeling quite comfortable, cuddled up to him so. “Brown is…well, it’s sort of boring, according to general opinion.”

“Thought you didn’t give a damn about  _general opinion_ ,” Bog countered, and she almost hummed with pleasure at the familiar challenging tone to his voice, one that always colored their banter.

“I don’t,” she shot back, poking a finger at his side. “But you  _are_  biased.”

“When it comes to you, its hard not to be,” Bog murmured, catching her hand and pressing a kiss to it. Marianne bit her lip, her heart fluttering. After all this time, he still could do this to her…

Bog continued, nuzzling at her hand, his nose nudging at her fingers. “Though if you continue to be so harsh with yourself, I would wager such a bias is a good thing.”

Marianne snorted, befuddled. “What the heck is  _that_  supposed to mean?”

Bog also let out a snort. “First you think there’s a chance that I don’t find you attractive, and now this.” Marianne flushed at that memory, but kept silent. Bog looked at her, and there was such pure concern in his gaze that she ducked her head down, her heart thudding at his soft, empathetic tones. “I know you can take care if yourself, Tough Girl. That’s never been in question.” He snaked his hands around hers, fingers crossing at her pulse point. “But…there’s no shame in being more…” he struggled, obviously trying to find the words, “… _kind_  to yourself.” His thumb stroked a comforting path up and down her thin wrists. “You’ve done nothing to warrant such condemnation.”

Marianne bit her lip and rolled her eyes in a desperately dismissive manner. “I let Roland happen –"

“ _He_  did that to you.  _He’s_  to blame.” Bog’s voice booked no argument, but his eyes held an aching sympathy. “Your greatest crime was falling in love. It was a harsh lesson, but you survived it.” His claws pricked at her fingers, and she looked up at him. Bog’s eyes were frank, his voice tender. “You’ve been hurt enough in your life, Marianne. Please…don’t add onto that pain.”

Gazing up into his face, Marianne felt the very real danger of her lip wobbling. When her vision blurred, she immediately closed her eyes and let out a gusty, ragged exhale. “I…it’s hard not to, y’know?  I was…I was so  _angry_ , at everything –" she sighed, “- at  _myself_ , for so long.  I hated myself for being so easily manipulated, and then…then I couldn’t stop thinking about how  _desperate_  I must have been, how pathetically  _scared_  I was about ending up alone ‘cause I was too different –"

Claws gripped at her. “ _But you weren’t. You aren’t.”_  Marianne bit her lip, and Bog sighed, his utter bewilderedness tinged with sadness. He looked at her, his blue eyes soft with pained confusion. “Marianne, how… _how_  could you ever think that you’re too  _different_  to be –"

She pet the line of his cheek and gave him a look. “How could  _you_  ever think you’re too hideous to be loved?”

Bog pulled away, looking frustrated. “That’s entirely different –"

“No, it’s not.” Marianne lifted her other hand to cradle his face, gentle and firm. “Bog,” she said, feeling her heart thud, her face solemn with earnestness as she took him in, his long, sharp face, his scales and prickles, so dark and grim. “Bog…you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever known.”

Bog had been on the verge of another protest, but her words appeared to steal all air from him, the sheer honesty in her voice shaking him to the core. He could only stare at her with wide eyes, eyes that had laid claim to every scarred over inch of her heart, looking at her as if she was unreal, a creature woven from words he had never dared to dream of being said to him…

Marianne simply looked back, letting him drink her in. She had nothing to hide, had given him nothing but the truth. The only sad thing was that he found such a truth impossible.  _He has no idea what he does to me._

Bog looked down, his throat working, and his mutter came out rough, his face falling into insecurity, to pain and doubt. “Ye…ye can’t mean tha’…”

Marianne felt a fierce stab of love and despair go through her. “ _With all my heart…_ ” she murmured, a quiet ferocity to her voice, and her hands tightened on his face.

Bog could think of no reply to that, and lapsed back into silence, but the raw vulnerability and hope in his face had her heart twisting. Marianne suddenly recalled another conversation on this bed, after a wild night with Goblin Ale, so very long ago - her giving the same vow, her hands on him, desperately hoping he would not doubt the honesty of her words…

So much had happened since then. So much had stayed the same. It was the simple truth that some scars would always give out pulses of pain, and some wounds would get ripped open with the simplest words. Hearts, once shattered, would carry the scars for life.

But scars meant that they could indeed be healed. And Marianne and Bog’s healing had begun as soon as they had taken the chance to open up to each other…

_I know all about getting your heart broken._

Now they knew all about healing those hearts, taking a second chance at Trust and Love…

Marianne tucked herself next to Bog, snuggling up under his chin and twining her arms around his neck. Though his shock over her words still lingered, Bog readily welcomed her, wrapping his arms around her, nuzzling at her hair before letting out another sigh.

Marianne echoed it softly, letting her fingers curl softly at his collar. Her voice was quiet but firm. “If you don’t want me to be so harsh with myself, same goes for you, okay? No more calling yourself hideous, no more hurting yourself.”  _In any way_.

One of his hands carded through her hair, whilst the other stroked up and down her arm. “Agreed. As long as you promise to give yourself the same kindness…” _That you’ve given me._ The words weren’t spoken but were heard all the same, echoing into her bones.  

“Deal.” Marianne nodded, and her head gave a little throb at that. She blinked, and was faintly surprised to find that she was completely exhausted. Though after all the emotional upheaval of the evening, she supposed it was only natural. She gently leaned into Bog, and he took her with him as he sank back against the bed, his deep sigh revealing his similar state of fatigue, the rumble of it reverberating through her.  _What a night._

Bog tugged a blanket over them, and Marianne snuggled close, the heavy weight of the moss a comfort, molding her tight against him. Bog tucked his face against the crown of her head, breathing her in before speaking. “Does your father know you’re here?”

Marianne hummed, rubbing a cheek against the scales of his chest. “I think it was pretty obvious where I was going. Worried about another army coming in the middle of the night?”

Bog shifted a bit beneath her. “No, just…what will you do? When you go back?” His claws stroked down between her wings gently. “If your father is still…you know you can stay here for as long you like -”

Her heart gave a twist at the sound of his voice, concern running deep despite his tiredness. “I know. But…I’ll think I’ll be okay. As for Dad…I’ll think of something.” Marianne didn’t  _want_ to think about what lay in store for her when she got back to the Palace. The fierce ache of betrayal had dimmed after her talk with Bog, but there was no way of knowing what state her father would be in. Would he be angry? Would he be begging for forgiveness?

But…she wasn’t going to worry about it now, sleepy and snuggled up with Bog, her head and heart no longer aching as they had been earlier. Her father and the fallout of their fight could wait. Tonight she had opened herself up in a way she would have never dreamed of, given herself over to a vulnerability that she had not thought possible. It had taken a bravery that went beyond swords and battle cries. At the very least, she could allow herself to be proud of that.

Meanwhile, Bog’s hand continued to stroke down her back, slow and soothing and warm. “I don’t doubt you will. You can take care of yourself.”

Marianne hummed in agreement, then suddenly thought back to her earlier thoughts as she had rushed to the Forest, one managing to burn true in her frantic pain. 

_“I’m stronger alone.” No more._

“Yeah…I can…” she said softly, fingertips stroking at him a bit, and Bog gave a small little noise of appreciation. She continued, her voice a slow, thoughtful murmur. “But…I don’t  _have_  to do it alone. For the longest time, I thought I  _had_  to do it by myself,  _had_  to be the only person I could trust. I thought that being alone was the only way I _could_  be strong. And now… I know better.” She raised her head and looked at him, her eyes soft and solemn. “Now I don’t  _want_  to be alone.”

Bog’s hands gripped her, not in claim but in comfort. His eyes burned blue in the darkness, the promise in them was so clear. “And you needn’t be. As long as you have need of me, all that I am…all that I can give…” claws tucked into her hair again, and his other hand pressed against her heart. “I swear to you, Marianne…it’s yours.”

His voice had Marianne inhaling fiercely, closing her eyes as she clung to him tightly, Bog’s hold on her just as fierce. The silence that followed seemed to deepen and echo with his statement, his words so deeply meant, so achingly sincere, any trite sentimentality was banished from them. It was the vow of a King, offering himself as an ally, the oath of a battle-mate to watch the others back.

It was a promise from one who loved her strange and wild and different self entirely, whom she loved with every inch of her scarred-up and scared heart, that she could depend on him.

That she could trust him.

Her chest gave a throbbing ache as her emotions swelled, and Marianne gave a deep exhale before opening her eyes tiny bit. The room was a bit dimmer, the flame in the lanterns growing faint – they must have talked for a while. But the moon was beginning to climb the sky, a faint silver glow cast upon the ledge of the window, where her flower lay. Only…

Marianne cocked her head, sleepy but intrigued. The bud had bloomed after all in the pale glow. Not a full blossoming - the petals still clung together, tight and shy. But…it was a start.

Marianne regarded it as Bog’s breathing grew slow and even, his claws still holding her close even as slumber claimed him. She took in its dark beauty, its shy tenderness, and gave a soft chuckle. Funny, how similar they were…  _Dark and wild and still so hesitant to open up…_

_Beloved by the King of this Forest…_

Stretching slightly, her mind fuzzy with sleep, Marianne thought back to what she had just said.  _“I’m stronger alone.”_  She had believed it with all her heart, but…god, she been so  _blind_. It had never been about being weak, never about needing someone to look after her, not about satisfying the demand for a King at her side…

It was about being strong enough to let someone in, being brave enough to be vulnerable.

And she had found that with Bog…

_I want to be vulnerable with him. I’m happy to be vulnerable with him. I trust him._

Marianne closed her eyes, still sore from her earlier crying. Trust with Bog was one thing. She wasn’t so foolish to think that it would be so easily reclaimed with others, no matter how much love there was between them.

Her father’s face, tight with anger and then vivid with regret, flashed through her mind, and Marianne gave a soft wince. Love, be it romantic or familial, would always have the potential for pain. Trust could always be shattered.  

But…that was a risk she was willing to take.

Letting the certainty of that thought twine its roots deep into her breast, Marianne gave a jaw-cracking yawn and let herself start to succumb to sleep and the soothing balm of darkness.

Her eyes fluttered closed, and soon Marianne’s pulse joined Bog’s in a quiet, comforting harmony that was all theirs, two once broken hearts beating as one. 


End file.
